


Hawkeye Shows Up Fifteen Minutes Late with a Starbucks

by WarMageCentral



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, M/M, Set some time after Winter Soldier, This whole fic is gonna be like serious crack, Tonnes of swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-11
Updated: 2014-05-10
Packaged: 2018-01-24 07:42:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1597022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WarMageCentral/pseuds/WarMageCentral
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawkeye shows up fifteen minutes late with a Starbucks and...</p><p>Lets just say he missed a lot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hawkeye Shows Up Fifteen Minutes Late with a Starbucks

**Author's Note:**

> Wow hey hello my name's Rhianna and I'll be your fic-writer for the evening. I've never written anything for the Marvel fandom before and I must admit I am slightly intimidated but if you like seeing your favourite Marvel characters cracking-wise, making bad puns and generally being idiots then we should be fine.
> 
> Any and all mistakes are mine, and bearing in mind it is almost 5am, there may be a lot and I apologise. For now I'll stop blabbering and let you read. Hope you enjoy!

_This looks bad,_ Clint thinks as he treads over some broken glass and the shattered remains of a – probably rather expensive – coffee table on his way through the main entrance of Stark Tower.

The security on the ground floor of the tower don’t appear to be preparing to leap into battle any time soon, instead just giving irritated shakes of their heads and casting withering glances towards the ceiling from time to time. Clint feels safe in making the assumption that the gross misuse of furniture is in fact due to one of the residents as opposed to a recent onslaught of aliens or super villains or particularly violent Jehovah’s Witnesses, and proceeds to calmly sip his coffee after passing through the mandatory security checks on his way to the private elevator leading to the penthouse.

It only occurs to him when he’s almost reached the top floor of the building that, considering who the residents of the building actually _are_ , facing an alien army might be preferable.

The elevator doors whir open and Clint steps out into what, for a moment, can easily be mistaken for a war zone. There is a gaping hole in the side of a wall (presumably where the window once was), furniture is upturned or outright destroyed all over the room, and in the middle of it all is a tiny Yorkshire terrier puppy chewing on a sock.

More disturbing still are the _humans_ in the room.

Huddled in a corner beside the kitchen area is none other than their host, Tony Stark, who is currently rocking back-and-forth and babbling, from what Clint can tell, utter nonsense into Bruce’s ear, who just listens to him calmly with a cup of tea in hand. Occasionally Tony will stay silent for a while before proclaiming in a wail of despair, “ _Strawberries._ ” and launching into another bout of manic rocking and muttering.

Clint’s attention is then drawn to Sam Wilson, who is pointing at the flat-screen TV with what can only be called a look of exasperation as he shouts “There is a _kid_ who shoots _spider webs_ from his fucking _hands_ , why aren’t we _doing_ anything about this?!” His shouts are directed over his shoulder, apparently in vain as the recipient doesn’t seem to be in a talkative mood considering the lack of actual replies. Clint follows Sam’s gaze to see who he’s been talking to and--

And has the sudden urge to bleach out his eyes as he is made witness to the humble pie, butter-wouldn’t-melt Steve Rogers straddling a certain Bucky Barnes, tongue halfway down the other man’s throat while Bucky grips eagerly at Steve’s hair. Before the possibility of Clint vomiting where he stands becomes a certainty, he whips his head around to the right side of the room to find Natasha being--

Well, just being Natasha, truth be told, looking at the scene in front of her with a bored stare and eating a plate of burnt cookies. She offers one to Clint with a raised eyebrow, and he declines before swiftly moving to sit beside her on one of Tony’s white leather couches, because _what the fuck?_

“What the fuck?” He asks her in a casual tone, as if they were discussing the weather or the six different ways to kill a guy with your elbow, and not the apparent simultaneous mental breakdowns of their friends unfolding around them.

“What indeed.” Natasha agrees before nibbling on another too-crisp cookie. Clint simply looks at her for a moment before she sighs and begins, “Well there’s The Tony Thing, which is what has our host in the foetal position over there,” she nods in Tony and Bruce’s general direction, “and there’s The Steve and Bucky Thing, which we all knew was gonna happen anyway but the timing could’ve been a bit better, I guess. Then there’s The Sam Thing and, honestly, I don’t even think Sam can explain The Sam Thing but I’ll give it a shot.”

Clint’s almost tempted to remain uninformed for once, just leave the tower and enjoy his coffee in peace but then the Yorkshire terrier puppy jumps up onto the couch and into his lap, which--

“Okay, how ‘bout you start with The Dog Thing, Nat?”

Natasha, the fiend that she is, simply gives a devious smirk before saying “All in good time.” and, sitting back, begins to tell the tale.

**Author's Note:**

> So... there was that. You'll notice this chapter was very brief and that's honestly because I'm not sure I'll be continuing with this fic, though I'd really like to stick around. Any and all feedback would be truly lovely, seriously no holes are barred.  
> Anyway I hope you enjoyed this and I'll hopefully keep this going. 
> 
> Have a nice day/evening/night/whenever!


End file.
